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Through Altmer's Eyes: Chapter 1
She stood in the doorway of The Bannered Mare. A fire pit sat in the center of the main hall; its flames heated the room and created shadows that danced on the walls. Cooked meat, bitter Ale, and sweat invaded her nose, making her think twice about entering. A few patrons sat on the two benches surrounding the fire. They were laughing, drinking, burping, and clanging their mugs together as they shares stories of their heroic adventures.
Two small tables with chairs sat close to the front door; another table and chairs sat in the far corner of the room, bathed in shadow. On the right side of the room was a small bar complete with stools and a tired barmaid. The left wall housed a doorway that she assumed must lead to the kitchen for a waitress came through there to serve her patrons a home cooked meal.
Calemirwen straightened herself as she stepped into the inn. She was determined not to let these Nords intimidate her. Her boots patted against the wood floors as she made her way to the
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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